


I'm a search light soul, they say

by teskodanceparty



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Supernatural AU: Croatoan/End'verse, always-a-girl!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 03:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teskodanceparty/pseuds/teskodanceparty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>She still has the taste of dirt coating the inside of her mouth, the constant chanting of <b>your own grave, your own grave, your own grave</b> in the back of her mind grating on nerves.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm a search light soul, they say

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated (for her birthday) to my darling, sweetheart, honeypie, Jade; who makes me want to write sonnets in the stars to match the love letters Cas wrote in Dean's freckles when he put him back together and raised him from perdition.

She still has the taste of dirt coating the inside of her mouth, the constant chanting of _your own grave, your own grave, your own grave_ in the back of her mind grating on nerves. There's a migraine settling behind her eyes, and her lips crack and bleed when she finally gets to the gas station, glass skittering on the neglected linoleum under her feet as she unlocks the door with a hand reaching through the newly broken pane of glass.

She downs an entire bottle of water, goes around the counter and cleans out the register, stuffs the cash and a few extras (energy bars, tampons, water, condoms, titty mags; she has priorities) into a plastic bag before her arm really starts to itch. She cleans up her face first, rinsing her mouth out and spitting grave dirt ( _your own fucking grave_ ) into the sink in the back of the building. She scrubs her hands clean, her arms, what she can reach of her legs before taking her clothes off. She strips down to nothing under the grimy florescent lights and hisses as she turns and catches sight of the mark on the top of her arm.

"What the fuck?" she whispers, her voice cracking with disuse, and her hand doesn't even come close to covering the handprint burned into her skin.

She doesn't get time to think that one over much, the static crackle of a radio coming on in the front of the store draws her out. She grabs a bag of salt, drawing lines at the doors and windows and feels like a god damn idiot for taking so long to remember this little, obvious step.

She's almost done, still naked as the day she was born, when the static intensifies, pitch heightening until she falls to ground. Glass is digging into her knees as she claps her hands over her ears, and windows are shattering, glass blowing inwards and hitting every bit of exposed skin on her body before it cuts off abruptly.

"What the fuck?" She whispers, and picks herself up again.

 

 

 

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." The one and only Castiel says, a man who isn't a man at all. Those killer blue eyes are zeroed in on her and only her and if Deanna wasn't so fucking tired, she'd be able to do more than roll her eyes and grimace.

"Yeah, thanks for that." She says, adjusts her grip on the blade in her hand, steadies her footing, and lunges. The blade sinks in and he pulls it out clean, shoves her aside and takes the shotgun from Bobby's hands, breaks it in his hands like kindling, and presses two fingers to the center of the older man's forehead.

Bobby goes out like a light, and Castiel turns to her, brow furrowed and mouth turned down at the corners like he expected better from her. But after decades with her father she's immune to that face, just arches an eyebrow and waits for him to make his move.

"We need to talk, Deanna. Alone." he says, voice like thunder rolling on the horizon and she _knows_ , knows in her bones and everywhere in between, that he's the real-god-damn-deal.

 

 

••

 

 

"I’m not a…hammer, I have questions, I have doubts." Cas tells her, face screwed up as he squints into the sun. Says "I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders Deanna. I truly don’t."

And what can she say to that? She knows what she wants to tell him, to take this weight already dragging her down and shove it up his ass, and to stay away from her and Sammy, and figure out a way to keep Bobby safe, and thanks for keeping the other angels off of her ass mostly, and please, god, don't make her do this alone anymore.

But she feels like shit just thinking it, so she doesn't say a damn thing. When she reaches a tentative hand towards him she's met with empty air. She sighs, tossing a lazy salute ~~to her angel~~ to the sky as she stands and doesn't think about this one thing at the top of the pile of things she wants and will probably never have.

 

 

••

 

 

Anna comes out of left field; a blur of red hair, skin as pale as the moon shimmering bright on the surface of a lake, and Deanna can't even pretend she's not a little taken with her. Not when she's just a pretty young woman that needs saving, and not when she's the fallen angel on the run from heaven searching for her grace.

In the back seat, the windows fogged over and Anna under her with her legs around her waist, Deanna breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, she doesn't think for the first time in a long time. Not when she's bringing Anna off with her mouth and her tongue or her fingers and a hand in her hair. And it's great, the fucking and not thinking; but whether she's aware of it or not, Anna puts a hand on her shoulder, nails digging into the edge of the faded burn there. It sends a white-hot jolt through Deanna, heat licking through her from her shoulder in waves, and she gasps, pulling into herself and dislodging Anna from straddling her waist.

Anna holds her hands up, palms out like an apology and Deanna just shakes her head, pulls her back down and whispers, "Try not to do that again?" before slanting their mouths together.

And, okay, she should have realized after that, that having sex in the back of her car with a soon to be juiced up angel was not going to gain her any fans. If all went according to plan that is; which, given their track record...not likely. But the way Uriel sneers at her, leans in close to ask, "You cut yourself a slice of angel food cake, didn't you?" sets her teeth on edge and sends her defenses up, deafening her to anything else he says.

It isn't until after, Anna's perfume clinging to her jacket and the ozone scent she's begun to associate with the flutter of wings burning her nostrils, that she remembers the rest of what was said while she was dreaming. And while Uriel has never been her biggest fan, she can't stop the loop of his voice, the condescending smirk on his face as he tells her, "See, Castiel has this weakness. He likes you."

 

 

••

 

 

She is the righteous woman, Lazarus rising for all intents and purposes, and the world is falling apart around them like it's always been falling apart. She shouldn't have to take care of so much, it's _too fucking much_ for one person, but if she doesn't fix it, who will?

Castiel is dead, except how he apparently isn't, standing in front of them, all half contained power and grace crackling just under his skin. She figures it's only fair that he gets to be an honorary member of the 'Guess who won't take a hint and stay dead?' club. She should know, she and Sam are original members. She's moving to close the distance between them, pulling him into a hug she's sure he won't know how to respond to, when he turns his head and speaks.

"You two need to be more careful." he grumbles petulantly, and Deanna shrugs, pulls him in by the collar and wraps her arms around him. He freezes even as she huffs a breath into his neck, his hands clenching at his sides. All he does to respond is place a hand on her arm, over the mark he'd left there months ago, but his frown softens and gives way to the hint of a smile before she steps back. 

"You're brothers are bigger dicks than I thought, dude." she says, smiling until he frowns again. Cas presses a hand to the center of her chest and Sam's, and it's like too much whiskey; fire in her blood and her brain gone sluggish. Sam gasps next to her and she swears a blue streak, muscles clenched for however long it takes before Cas removes his hands. Sam is rubbing at his side uncomfortably and Cas' fingers linger over the exposed line of her collarbone, for a fraction of a second, barely there, his eyes holding hers for a second beyond that.

"What the hell, Cas?" Sam grimaces, and she smiles a little, just to do it, because they're all alive so why the hell not? Cas says it's, "An Enochian sigil. It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer." like you'd say "Oh, just gonna pick up some things at the store!"

Deanna laughs outright, and Sam elbows her, says _'Dee shut your mouth, Christ'_ with a furrowed brow and an exasperated smile. He  asks, "Did you just brand us with it?" before she can put her foot any further in her mouth.

Cas' eyes go intense again, catching her gaze and holding it and if she were to drown in anything, his eyes really wouldn't be the worst choice.

"No. I carved it into your ribs." he says and when Sam asks if he was really dead, simply whispers "Yes." vanishing before Deanna can ask how he got back.

 

 

••

 

 

"Okay Cas, dude." She says, a few weeks later, with angels after all of them, demons seemingly around every corner, and Castiel's (possible) death looming just out of sight. "There are two things I know for sure. One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, I'm not letting die a virgin, not while you're with me." She shrugs her jacket on and walks out. She turns back when he doesn't follow her, grabs him by the lapels and walks him to her car, shoving him into the passenger seat with a laugh at the expression on his face as she does.

She's well on her way to drunk as a fucking skunk, shoving a small wad of bills into Cas' hand and sending him off with Chastity. It isn't until she's downing the last of her drink and signaling for another that she notices the knot in her gut for the tug of gnawing jealousy that it is.

She intends to drink it into submission, like she's done before, like she's done with so many of her problems, but then she hears Chastity screams, and they make it out the back door before anyone gets the chance to throw them out.

She's got her arm around Cas' neck, his hand warm and steadying at the small of her back, and they're both laughing as they run back to the Impala.

His smile is as easy as it is for her to press him up against the side of her baby, one hand wrapped around the half undone knot of his tie, the other bracing against the night-cooled metal behind him. Leaning in, slow enough for him to be sure of her intent while giving him time to stop her, she kisses him; a quick dry pass of her lips over his.

"Deanna?" he breathes, makes her name a question, eyes deep and dark, hand closed in a fist around the fabric of her jacket at the small of her back.

"I'm no Chastity, she's probably got skills _I'd_ be impressed by, but you deserve to be kissed by someone who cares about you. 'Specially if you're biting the big one tomorrow." she says, throws on the smirk that's gotten her into more beds and trouble than anything else even when they both know he's always been able to see right through it.

"Thank you." he whispers, eyes wide and dark with something she can't figure out right now, and she shrugs.

"No problem, Cas." she says, and walks to the drivers side of the car before she does something they'll regret, drives them back to their room to sleep off the alcohol they've had to drink instead. And if she has to spend a few minutes in the bathroom once they get there, splashing cold water over her face while she stares at herself in the dingy mirror over the sink and listens to her heart hammering against the confines of her chest, well. He doesn't ask about it, is laying flat on his back with his hands folded over his stomach and wishes her a quiet, "Goodnight, Deanna." just before she drifts off.

 

 

••

 

 

She and Cas have been doing this dance for a while; pushing boundaries until one if them snaps, neither of them willing to tip toe around the other. Sam grouses about needing separate rooms and unresolved sexual tension at least once a week, bitch face firmly turned up to 11 as she lays a smacking kiss on his cheek every time, getting an extra laugh out of it if she has food in her mouth.

That's not the point.

Cas' pretty dark head of hair is between her legs, forehead pressed to the top of her thigh while he's sucking bruises into her skin like the lace tops of the tights she never wears; and Deanna writhes under him.

For someone who'd essentially been a virgin when they met, Cas is not shying away from some of the freakier stuff if he thinks its going to get them both off, which, spoiler alert: it does. Besides, Deanna has never had a problem with a few bumps and bruises from enthusiastic bed partners. Like, ever.

So Cas' mouth is busy, and he has her pinned to the bed with just a hand on her stomach, the pace of the hard suck and slight drag of teeth maddening before he pulls away with an obscene pop. He sits up, eyes shining and dark when she whines, grinding her hips down to fuck herself on his fingers.

"Do you even know?" he starts to ask, trailing off with a shake to clear his head. His voice is rough and low and she imagines him loud under her, her name clawing it's way out of his chest like the prayers of a dying man. His tongue flashes out to moisten his lips, his fingers slowing, and she growls.

"Jesus fucking-fuck, Cas." she hisses, and her head snaps back when he twists his wrist, leaning up to nibble on the swell of her hip.

He chuckles, still moving, humming against her ribcage. His fingers pick up speed and curl _just so_ and she would thrash if he wasn't using a bit of his angel mojo to hold her down, and it shouldn't turn her on as much as it does that he's so much fucking stronger than she is, but fuck does it ever.

"I don't, whatever it is, fucking -- please Cas," She pants, wants to scream when he stops sucking bruises up her side and grins, filthy and happy, settling over her.

"Since you asked so nicely." he smiles into the side of her neck, and she tries to scoff but it comes out more of a yelp when he pushes into her, hitching her legs up and around his waist. Digging her heels into the small of his back, she grins right back at him, bites at his shoulder and whispers, "You feathery asshole." She giggles (she'll deny giggling at all, to her next grave and the fight back through hell) when he screws his face up, blows a raspberry into the skin just under her ear before biting another bruise into the side of her neck for Sam to frown at when he gets back.

But _that's not the point_. The point _is_ , she knows she's dreaming, this would not be happening if she was awake. That doesn't mean she isn't a little pissed when she startled awake before she comes. She gasps, struggling to sit up and flip the scratchy hotel sheets off, but there's a weight near her feet that won't let her do it. Opening her eyes really should have been her first step, but she already knows who it is sitting beside her.

"Hello Deanna. What were you dreaming about?" Cas asks, head tilted and a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest and the old threadbare t-shirt she wears to sleep, is very aware of the twinge of want that's still curling through her. She frowns at the memory of the last time he'd dropped in like this, pinches at his thigh with her toes through layers of fabric and doesn't laugh when he tilts his head and shoves her foot away.

"What's up Cas?" she asks, stretches her arms out to her sides and pretends he's not staring. There's color high on his cheeks when she meets his gaze finally.

"You were calling out for me." he says and he doesn't move but he doesn't stop staring and it's suddenly a little too warm for her to just lie there.

"Nightmare." she shrugs, slips out of bed and pads barefoot onto the cold linoleum of the bathroom. She splashes water on her face, and when she stands up straight, can see the main room reflected back at her. The clock on top of the tv flashes 6:23, and Cas is still watching her.

"I don't believe so, no." He says, suddenly right behind her, warm and in her space. She doesn't jump, but only just, frowns at him in the mirror and he takes a half-a-step back without her having to tell him.

"Would you like help with your hair?" he asks, a small wry smile on his face turning up the corner of his mouth for a second before she turns around. He eyes the snarled mess of her hair and she doesn't flick his ear as she passes close on her way to the duffle full of her clothes.

"Gimme a second to throw something on, smart ass." she says, grabs a shirt and a mostly clean pair of jeans and changes into them in the corner of the room and pulls the chair away from the table by the tv and to the side of her bed.

"Over here, it's too early to stand for that long." she says, turns the chair so she straddles it and leans her forehead on her arms.

"That doesn't look very comfortable." Cas says, maneuvering to sit at her back anyways. She shrugs, and let's the soft tug of the brush through her hair, Cas breathing quiet and steady behind her lull her into a daze.

"I'm done." Cas says after some time has passed, and she sits up straight, letting her back crack as she does. She goes to the mirror in the bathroom to look at her hair and wash her hands and grins at her reflection. Her hair is up, bangs in pin curls she'd never be able to manage on her own; a passably clean bandana she knows has been rolling around her bag for a while holding it all together.

"I look like Rosie the riveter!" she laughs, turns and jumps this time because Cas is right behind her again, even though she's told him about personal space and how it actually exists.

"Is it sufficient?" he asks, and she flicks him on the ear this time.

"Dude, Cas, it's awesome." she says, leans back against the door jam and pokes his shoulder.

"I've seen this," he pauses, nodding towards her head, "On a television show. She reminded me of you." he says, smiling when she does.

"Was she a dirty high school drop out with a giant brother, forty years in hell under her belt, and a trunk full of guns and rock salt?" she asks, walking away to pull her boots on. She hops on one foot, tips too far forward and yelps when Cas pushes her to sit on the edge of her bed.

"No." he says, frowning in the way that she knows means he thinks she's being purposefully obtuse about this. "She was strong, noble. She did what was best for her family, what needed to be done; what was right." he explains, sits down next to her with a sigh.

"Cas, I-" she starts and he cuts her off, his hand reaching out like he wants to pat her knee and thinks better of it.

"I know, Deanna." he say, voice rumbling through the quiet of the room. She sighs, edging closer until she can rest her chin on his shoulder.

"I-I dreamed this." he whispers, stumbling over the words. Cas tilts his head, resting his temple against her forehead like they've done a handful of times, only this is different somehow.

"I thought you didn't need to sleep?" she asks and he shrugs, eyebrows drawing together in a silent apology for jostling her, and he says, "I don't. I thought I'd try it."

Deanna smiles, huffing a laughing against his sleeve.

"Was it sufficient?" she asks, voice pitched low, still smiling in case he doesn't know she's joking. It has the opposite effect, his face closing off and going serious and she doesn't know how to react to pissy angels other than more sarcasm.

"Cas?" she whispers, presses her hand between his should blades. When he doesn't pull away, she digs her nails in a little, watches his eyes flash to her face before she remembers that, hey, angels have wings and stuff.

"Shit, Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't hurt you did I?" she hisses, pulling her hand away fast. A shiver runs from his neck down his body and he shakes his head, mouth open just enough for her to catch sight of his tongue as he licks his lips.

"No." he says, turning to her and there's heat in his eyes she's familiar with but has never seen on him, sending that tendril of want back through her.

"Did you dream this too?" she whispers, leaning into him, -yeah, it's her turn for invasions of personal space now- putting a hand just above his knee and digging her fingers into the materiel of his slacks.

Cas shakes his head, more to clear it, she thinks, than in answer, and scoots closer. "Not this. We're still making this up as we go."

Cas kisses her first, or maybe she kisses him, one hand landing between his shoulder blades and the other in his hair. It’s a low, heady burn; the rasp of his stubble against her cheek and neck, the perfectly controlled strength he uses as his hands grab at her hips, pressing bruises into her skin, lifting her into his lap.

"Dee, I want--may I?" he whispers, breath rushing out of his lungs like he's run a marathon, and she nods.

"Yeah, let's...yeah." she mumbles, trailing off on a moan with his mouth on her collarbone.

Her hands are buried in his hair, his coat and jacket shoved down off his shoulders and trapping his arms at his sides. His fingers dig into her thighs, and she rolls her hips down against his, presses a trail of open-mouthed kisses along the line of his jaw when his mouth falls open on a gasp.

"Deanna." he says, and it's almost the same as his voice in her dream, so close at least she drops her forehead onto his chest and groans. "Someone is at the door." he says, a little quieter now.

That should be warning enough, should give them enough time to jump apart, to look a little less guilty, but Deanna can't make herself move farther than sliding sideways off of Cas' lap, a hand still in the hair at the nape of his neck. She has a hand on the gun she keeps under her pillow, eyes on the door. Cas straightens but doesn't pull away from her, fingers warm where they've snuck under her bottom of her shirt; they both inhale sharply when the doorknob turns and the door pushes open.

"Hey Dean, you up? I'd ask if you were hungry, but I already know the an--hey Cas." Sam says by way of greeting, wiping sweat from his face with his t-shirt. His brow furrows when he looks back up at them, but he doesn't say anything, shrugs and gathers his things to shower. Cas blushes, and Deanna is very aware of how they look. His hair is worse than usual, coat hanging off of his arms and his tie loose around his neck, lips flushed dark from kissing; she can't be better off.

"Keep it PG out here guys, I'd like to not lose my appetite before 8 am." he says, taps fingers against the door jam and smiles, bright and open and happy for her before shutting and locking the door behind him.

"You've caught me at worse, Sammy!" she yells and grins when his reply of "That wasn't a challenge, Dee!" is nearly drowned out by the spray of the shower and Cas chuckling against the side of her neck, his fingers dancing along her spine.

 

 

••

 

 

Deanna sees the man, old around the eyes, breath frantic, hands shaking as he lifts his bible to the sky, and she knows it's a shit chance, but it's _a chance_ , maybe the only one they've got, so she takes it. Hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, she tries a smile as she approaches him. Says, "Hey! I’m Deanna. D'ya know who I am?" and watches his mouth fall open and snap shut, eyes wide. He nods his head so fast she can practically hear his brain rattle.

"Awesome. Listen, I need you to put a call in to your angel radio, tell them I’m here." She says, and really smiles this time. His eyes stay on her face as he kneels, and he whispers, "I thought you'd be a man." (and if she had a nickel for every time she's heard that, she'd be filthy god damn rich by now) before he begins to pray. He doesn't get far, Cas appearing from nowhere and knocking the man unconscious with a touch before grabbing her by the collar and dragging her into the nearest alley.

"What the hell, Cas?!" she manages to gasp, and then his fist connects with her jaw, her side, her gut. He throws her against the opposite wall and grabs her by the collar before her skull can crack against brick at her back.

"I rebelled for this?!" He growls, voice like thunder rolling through a storm, eyes flashing with so much anger she almost wants to laugh. He let's her go, back handing her across the face and she can feel blood pooling in her mouth as he says, "So that you could surrender to them?"

She groans his name, and if he hears her he ignores her; grimaces and drives a knee between her legs hard enough she tries to double over, pulls her back up and head-butts her square on the nose.

"I gave everything for you." he says, using the press of his body to hold her up, and he's so close she could count his eyelashes if her vision wasn't starting to blur around the edges. She thinks maybe she mumbles something about how pretty he is, even when he's kicking her ass around a disgusting alley, and he ignores that too.

When he goes to toss her away from him she holds on, let's him take her weight again. He looks confused, maybe, and tired and she wants to cry because, _god_ is she tired. But she won't, not now. Instead she grabs at his shoulders, his shirt, drags her fingers through his hair and cringes at the spots of blood she's left on his clothes.

"I kinda feel like I should kiss you to make this better, but-" she cuts off, coughing blood onto his lapel and he frowns, expression hardening.

"It wouldn't work." he growls, letting go of her shoulders and stepping away. She slides to the ground, landing hard on her elbows in a puddle and it's gross but it's no worse than she's dealt with or deserves.

"Just do it." she begs and sees the fierce clench of his jaw, the line of his shoulders. His wings flash behind him, unfurled and dark even against the night sky, his hands in fists at his side; all out of focus as he relaxes slowly. A sad smile stretches across his face, and it's the last thing she sees before he leans in and presses a hand to her shoulder and knocks her out.

 

 

••

 

 

"Never change, Cas." she'd told him, what feels like years ago and it was as stupid then as it is to think about it now, but she does anyways. Watching his eyes light up with power he'd never dare tap into before, she wants to say it again and doesn't. The words stick in her throat, taste like blood and sweat and grave-dirt on her tongue as she coughs to clear it away.

Sam is at her side, hand held tight to the stab wound under his heart that won't stop bleeding, and her fists are white-knuckled on the gun at her belt and the sword in her hand.

The Impala is a coiled heap of screaming hot metal and rubber a mile behind them, glass blown out of the windows days before that.

She stretches a hand out, reaches for Cas and says nothing, doesn't need to. Sam takes a shuffling step forward, eyes bled to black and it's a sign of how fucked they are that it's at the bottom of her list of priorities right now. She tangles a hand in Cas' coat, adjusts the grip she has on her sword, and steps forward fast, slicing a line across his middle, doing the same to her hand and smearing her palm through the blood that wells up. He doesn't even wince, gaze flickering down to her face before he's back to watching the few hundred demons in front of them.

"If you think you can take me with nothing but your dying brother, your angel, and that toothpick, you're free to try, Winchester." the devil says with ~~her baby brother~~ Adam as his mouth piece and she grins, angry and nasty.

"I'm gonna shove you back into that fucking box with both hands, if it's the last thing I do." she says, and knows by the smile curving foreign on the mouth he's stolen that he can hear her.

Michael is around somewhere, she's sure, and even if he wanted her to she'd still say no, there isn't a world she can imagine where it'd go any other way, except-- Except Sam is stepping forward, says, "Leave them out of this, it's me you want right?" and if he's trying to get to Lucifer he'll bleed out before he makes it.

"Sammy, don't!" she yells, is vaguely aware of Cas' holding her back as the black eyed crowd parts before them, a clear path straight to their goal with only Sam in the way but he's not something she's ever been willing to risk like that. She goes limp and Cas stands her up, presses his nose into her hair and whispers, "It will work." and her answering smile is tinted red with the blood she's wiped over her mouth.

"I know." she says back, and when the rush of eons of power and grace and knowledge floods through her, skin burning white hot, she's impossibly calm. Back straight and eyes bright, she's a soldier, always has been; but this is something on an entirely different level and it's not even a hundredth of what Cas must feel at all time.

"What have you done, baby brother?" Lucifer yells and the crowd roars as his voice echoes over them.

"What you never could." Cas says, and draws his sword out of thin air with the smell of sea water and ozone. He takes a handful of steps forward before coming to a stop, looking over his shoulder at her.

"Dee, I-" he says and she shakes her head, says "Me too, Cas." before joining him, pulling the pistol free of it's holster on her thigh and chambering a round. Sam is almost to Lucifer, but he's slowing down, staggering into demons who titter and growl and shove him along his way.

They fight their way through it, and with the extra _oomph_ of angel mojo coursing through her veins it's almost easy. There's a bite on her thigh that isn't healing though, blood running into her eyes from a cut in her scalp and Cas isn't much better off but they reach Sam and pull him between them. He is sheet white and leans heavy into her hand and she let's him lean his weight on her, handing him the gun smoking in the hand that's around his middle. Sam takes it, aims at the middle of Adam's face, and Lucifer grins a not-right flash of teeth that she's had nightmares about, only it's Sam's face he's wearing in them. 

Deanna presses a palm over Sam's wound, _wills_ it to heal, feels the power leeching from her into him and they both gasp.

He rushes them then, and the three of them move to circle him. Sam shoots lead into his chest and it doesn't even slow him down, neither does the sword she drives up through his ribs, poking out from the opposite shoulder. He knocks her aside and she feels a few ribs cave as she flies through the air. 

Cas attacks him, their swords meeting, steel older than the planet their bringing down around them ringing in the air and it won't be enough, not at all. Deanna struggles to her feet, pulling dad's ka-bar from her boot, watching Sam and Cas take on the devil and knowing it's not enough, would never be enough, she looks to the heavens and prays quickly.

"Deanna! No!" Cas bellows, and she whips her head around in time to see Lucifer take advantage of his distraction, knocking his defensive pose aside, coming in close and stabbing him in the side; between the ribs, similar to Sam's wound, but higher up, into the heart. It's quiet enough now that she can hear him whisper, "You could never have done _this_ , our sweet, naive Castiel."

He doesn't get a chance to pull the blade loose. Sam drives the butt of his gun between his shoulder blades and she lunges, brings the knife down and into his shoulder as he falls to his knees.

"With both hands, motherfucker." she growls, pulls the rings free from his fingers and there's something in his eyes she doesn't stop to think about as she throws the rings to the ground, pulls her knife free and kicks him into the hole opening up under them.

"Adam?" Sam asks and she tries to smile as her legs give out. "What I was praying for." she says, and let's him carry her to where Cas had staggered, is now lain out in the blood-soaked dirt under their feet.

"It might leave a scar." She tells Cas, voice thick with tears she doesn't want to shed even now, and he smiles, mouth full of blood.

"It's only fair," Cas says, arms moving slow; like he's trying to wade through water, as he cups her face in his blood stained hand, wiping away tears slipping past her eyelashes with his thumb. "I did the same when I found you." he says, and she chokes on a sob rising in her mouth, side burning where her ribs are broken, shaking her head.

"Always knew it was your way of calling dibs, you creep." She chuckles and his eyes are open but unseeing when she looks back down at him. And she never worked up the nerve to actually tell him.

"Deanna?" Sam says, yards of space between them and he's covered in blood but he's alive and whole. It should be enough. It isn't anymore.

"Please." she whispers, over and over again until the word is rendered meaningless. Her fingers slick with his blood and her own, she cards them through Cas' hair. The voice in her head that sounds so much like her father is telling her she should have tried harder, done more, given everything she could for them. Sam kneels behind her, one hand squeezing down on her shoulder as the other presses fingers to Cas' forehead. He tugs her away and holds her to his chest when her legs won't hold her up.

"I'm so damn tired, Sammy." she says, and he nods into her hair, says "I know Deanna, I'm sorry." and it takes her a moment to realize that he's never called her by her name in their entire lives, pulling her out of her shock faster than she thought possible.

"Your not Sam." she says, dragging herself free of his grip and scrambling backwards, that smile from her nightmares stretching across her baby brother's face.

"No. I'm really not." he says, and is gone in a flash of lightning and the sound of Cas gasping awake and coughing up blood.

 

 

••

 

 

"Do you remember my wings?"

They're lying, shoulders pressed together, in the too-small bed of the best shitty motel room they could find. She doesn't turn to look at him, listens to the sound of his breathing -deep breath in, forced out of his lungs in a rush- and doesn't answer. She feels him turn onto his side, his movements jerky, and continues staring at the ceiling.

"Dee-" he starts to say and she must flinch away at that, because he drops his head onto her shoulder, brow furrowed, and whispers an apology.

 

 

 

"Yeah, I remember 'em." she says, hours later, -maybe days, she isn't sure- her voice raw and cracking with disuse. Her hands are busy hot wiring a used jeep for sale on the side of the road, and Cas startles by the hood where he's keeping watch.

"Yes?" he says, tentative, like he's speaking to a caged animal and it almost makes her want to laugh. "Yeah, Cas." she says, and knows it's not nice when she gets the car to start finally. Cas jogs to the passenger seat, pulls the **'For Sale'** sign off of the window and tosses it into the wind as they peel out and start down the highway.

"I thought I was still seein' shit, that first time." she says, and shakes her head to shake away her tunnel vision. She can feel Cas watching her, like he has been for a while, and wants to snap at him about. She doesn't, barely restraining herself, white-knuckles the steering wheel and exhales shakily.

"Hey, is there a map in here?" she asks to change the subject. Cas shrugs, and flips on the overhead light to search his side of the car. Once he finds one they fall into a tentative quiet, the rustle of paper as he looks for familiar roads. They don't talk at all aside from the occasional pointing out of landmarks and asking where they are.

Getting to Bobby's takes longer than it should, but by the time she kills the engine in front of his house, she doesn't give a shit.

Cas pulls their bags out of the trunk, and Bobby meets them at the door with a frown.

"Where-" Bobby begins and she doesn't know what's going on with her face that makes him stop but she's grateful for it, leaning into the hand he puts just above her elbow as he pulls her into the kitchen.

"Hello, Chuck." she hears Cas say from the living room and it surprises her enough, she pulls a face at Bobby before following Cas.

"Hey Dean, how are--I mean are you--shit." Chuck says, rubbing at the back of his neck, holding himself tense and ready to flee.

She knows that she should be fucking furious with him, and maybe later she will be, but now she sees Chuck -in a ratty pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt, pants tucked into a pair of work boots- shuffling his feet nervously and she laughs, really laughs, for the first time in days.

"Yeah, you too, Chuck." she sighs, raps her knuckles against his arm and flops down onto the couch in the space he must have been sitting before they got there. Cas smiles, pulling his coat off and perches on the arm of the coach beside her.

"What are you watching?" Cas asks, head tilted and eyes on the screen. She has to elbow Chuck in the side to get him to answer, and he jumps when she does, but he smiles at them both.

"Food network. They're marathoning Cupcake Wars." Chuck says, and moves over, giving them enough space to sit. She pulls Cas down next to her, leans her head on his shoulder like she's done dozens of times before, and konks out to the soft murmur of the tv and the steady rise and fall as Cas breathes beside her.

When she wakes up, it's to Cas and Chuck sitting on the floor in front of the couch she's now sprawled across. There's the afghan off the back of the couch -worn thin in spots with age- thrown over her. Chuck is leaning over a notebook on the coffee table, blocking most of the screen and Cas' hand wrapped around her bare ankle arguing the merits of fondant on cupcakes with Chuck.

"Why don't they have a pie making war? I'd watch that." Deanna says around a yawn, wiggling her toes against Cas' wrist. It doesn't hit her until she sits up and stretches, opening her mouth to ask where Sam is, that he's gone.

She's doubled over, barely able to breath or hear past the rushing of blood in her ears; can't hear what she's sure would at any other time be a hilarious stream of bullshit from Chuck. She knows Cas is still there, his hand rubbing useless circles over her back, his mouth pressed to the raised scar tissue on her arm, moving like he's talking to her but she can't-- _she can't_

"Fuck, Sam. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sammy." she's distantly aware it's all she's been able to say for a while. Cas carries her up to the spare room, Bobby hovering angrily in the doorway; and she sleeps.

She doesn't sleep long. Waking drenched in sweat from dreams of fire, the rack, Sam begging for her help and her unable to do anything. It has her leaning heavily on bottles of cheap whiskey Chuck brought with him, passing it between them on couch watching the food network, or perched on the hood of a rusted out clunker out on the edges of the property.

She doesn't talk much, not to any of them, not anymore, but she seems to be making up for it in spades every night she wakes with her brother's name clawing away at her chest.

 

 

••

 

 

"You're turn Cas, come on." she says, pulling him to his feet and taking most of his weight as they walk back towards her tent at the edge of the camp.

"I know. Why do you think I was drinking?" he grumbles, scratches her cheek with his beard and she rolls her eyes, let's him fall into the seat waiting for him once they get there.

"To mellow your coke high. How do you even get your hands on this shit?" she says, and watches his dilated pupils for anything wrong before settling into his lap. She doesn't know why she does it at all, but it gets more of a reaction from him than she's allowed herself in months. A grin stretches across his face, sad and angry all at once, and he wiggles his hips under hers, gasping when she does and digs her nails into his shoulders.

"I didn't know you were feeling frisky, I'd have stayed a little more sober if I had." he says, sighs and tangles his hands in her hair that is only as long as it is because ~~he'd mentioned he likes it like that~~ she's never bothered getting it cut. She scoffs, pulling her hair up into a ponytail, flicking him on the ear and smiling when he bares his teeth playfully.

"Not gonna happen, bud. We're getting our tattoos redone, and you still don't have one." she says, shrugs her shirt off her shoulder and turns to show him hers on her shoulder blade. He traces a finger over it, huffs a breath out over her shoulder and his mouth is on her skin, on the mark he'd left on her such a long time ago, it takes her a second to react.

"I remember." he says when she stumbles, stands quickly, pulling her shirt back into place and reaches for a pair of gloves. The tattoo gun is in the corner and her hands are steady but Cas isn't, shaking ever so slightly as he pulls his shirt off over his head and nods towards the spot where there should be a paper-thin scar slicing across his stomach just above his belly button.

"I've seen a lot more of Dee Winchester than that, you know." he grumbles. She turns the machine on and tries to ignore the way her scalp itches with how hard he's staring down at her.

"You sure this is where you want it?"  
She asks, and when he nods she sets to work. He hisses sharply between his teeth, but stops soon after she starts. She wipes blood away and her free hand drifts up towards the scar on his side, almost of it's own violation, before she pulls it back fast.

"I know, Cas. It was just... It was different then." she says, half to fill the silence, and he doesn't jerk under her hands but it's enough of a change she pauses.

"I remember that. You've never let me forget it." he says, voice cold, words settling heavy in her chest.

"But I don't get it, I really don't." He chuckles, dark and angry because if he isn't one these days he's the other. The fact that it's her fault and she knows it, hasn't been able to change it, is another thing on her list fuck ups spanning her entire life.

This conversation though, it's years in the making, and she wishes, strangely, that Chuck were here to diffuse the tension hanging between them thick enough to choke on. Chuck's probably on the other side of camp, in one if the cabins they started putting up when they'd voted to set up shop in Chiquita anyhow. Deanna lifts the needle and sets it down, shrugs and says, "What's there to get?" which she knows just pisses him off even more.

"What do you want?" he asks, demanding when all she does is shrug again, keeping her eyes guarded. She knows what to say, what she _should_ say, but she still can't make herself do it.

"When have you ever just wanted something for yourself, Deanna?" he asks, voice burning cold and that stops her completely. His eyebrow arches, questioning and mocking and she regrets teaching him sarcasm when he was still ruffling his feathers around them.

"Never." she says, chewing her lip. She honestly hadn't thought about it, not in ages, at least not since before the pit. "Never," she says again and frowns, looks up and sighs. "Not as far back as I can remember!" She doesn't yell as she says it, but it's a close thing, the ringing silence that follows clueing her in on that fact.

 _"Not until I met you."_ she leaves unspoken, smiling angrily down at her hands, balled into fists and hanging useless in her lap, forces them to unfurl and pick up the machine. "And look where that got us."

She turns the machine back on and gets to it, hands trembling until she squeezes them tight enough to stop it as she inks the mark into his skin.

 

 

••

 

 

"Do you trust me?" she asks him, their skin spattered in their own blood and covered in old scars; her hair cropped short around her ears, ends singed on their last hunt. Cas smiles, spitting blood onto the cracked pavement at their feet, pulling a loose tooth free and throwing it over the back of the car they're hiding behind.

Somewhere in the building that's close enough she can smell the burning bodies within it, is the devil wearing her brother's body. If she could bring herself to, she'd probably laugh, bitter and angry and never not her fault, at the fact that this is happening in the remnants of a high school gym, _'the devil's wearing me to prom,'_ ringing in Sam's voice in the corner of her mind she keeps closed off for reasons just like this. The Colt looks almost small in Cas' hand, but it's their last chance at ending this once and for all.

"With my life." he says, grinning wide and dangerous and she returns it, pulls him against her with a rough hand at the back of his neck and licks blood from his teeth. "I love you," she whispers _(finally)_ against his mouth, shakes harder for it than the blood loss. His eyes fall shut, breath shuddering on it's way out and when he opens his eyes again they are clear. He noses against her cheek, grins and says, "I know."

"Alright Han." she chuckles, stands with her fingers still tangled in his hair and kisses him one last time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Let's get to work."

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as a five times Castiel marked Deanna, and the one time she returned the favor, but got wildly out of hand super fast, as most things I start are want to do.


End file.
